April Yellow Moon
A Cat Collier Short Story Serial Mystery
by Carol Ann Kauffman
In this fourth installment in the Cat Collier Short Story Mystery Series, a dear, old friend comes up missing and Cat Collier must scramble to find her before it's too late. A powerful enemy resurfaces and claims responsibility for a personal attack on Cat's family. Nola relives Trent's murder. Carter proposes...again.
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I wanted a private meeting with this Woolstein character. I knew Carter, Dete, and my family would all be dead set against it. I had to set it up on my own.
I poured through all the online articles I could find on the well-known, well-connected Robert Woolstein. I tried every internet trick I knew. I had a general location. I had four home addresses in the area. Why would someone want four residences in the same area?
I did a drive-by investigation. All four of the residences were substantial homes in well-developed, wealthy neighborhoods. So at least this guy wasn’t a sleazy slumlord.
But I was no closer to finding Woolstein than I was before. Back out for another drive-by. This time, I got out and questioned the neighbors, or the neighbor’s maids. All four claimed Robert Woolstein lived in that specific house in that specific neighborhood. No one was willing to offer any further information. Woolstein’s exact location was still a mystery. He was good.
Carter showed me the note Woolstein supposedly sent Detrick, claiming responsibility for my mother’s poisoning when my dad was in the hospital, but that was a dead end. Nothing was traceable. There was nothing to prove it was even from Woolstein.
“Hey, Nola, come in here,” I called to my secretary.
She popped in and sat across from me, note pad in hand, the picture of competence. “What’s up this morning?”
“Do you still have the keys to Steel Man Trucking?”
“Of course, I do. My sweet lil’ Trent gave me those keys. He put them in my hand and squeezed my fingers and I’ll treasure those keys until the day I die. Other, less-imaginative men give their women diamonds and rubies, roses and chocolates. Trent gave me complete access to his office, a company credit card, and a pickup truck. That’s true love, baby, not that unrealistic sugary romance novel stuff.”
“Can I borrow the keys?” I asked without looking up. For a private investigator, I am a notoriously bad liar.
“Sure. What are you up to?”
“Nothing, Nola. I just need to check some old records.”
“What old records? Records on what? I am…was, the office manager, you know. I know old record stuff.”
“Oh, some old illegal activity up in the northern part of the county.”
“You’re going after Woolstein, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Let’s go get that rich, entitled evil monster-fiend with no conscience who shot my sweet Trent in the head and then exploded him, and poisoned your daddy with a chocolate cupcake meant for your mama. Have you been planning this for very long?”
“A couple weeks.”
“And why didn’t you tell me? You know I want to see him captured and arrested and led away in handcuffs and shot and hung and decapitated.”
“Yes, but I thought maybe you’d tell Carter or Detrick because I’m treading very dangerous waters.”
“So, you think I’m going let you tread those very dangerous waters all by yourself? What kind of friend do you think I am? You might have other friends who would let you jump into the snake pit by yourself, girl, but not this one. I’m going with you. Let’s go.”
Nola stood by the doorway.
“Well, come on.”
“Don’t you have to go get the keys?”
“No.”
“You’ve got them on you?” I asked as we walked to the parking garage.
“Yes. Safely pinned to my push-up bra, close to my heart.”
I howled with laughter. “I never knew you were such a romantic, soul sister.”
“I’m very romantic. In fact, I invented romantic. I’d like to steam roller some romantic on top of that good-looking Tony Hudson, but he seems to be afraid of me. I guess I am just too much woman for him.
“I’ll drive,” said Nola. “The pick-up truck looks like it belongs at Steel Man Trucking. It fits in better.”
“No, I don’t think you’re too much woman for him,” I said. “I think you’ve got the formula just right. Tony’s wife dumped him for his very rich and handsome engineer brother-in-law. He has abandonment issues. Don’t give up on him, though. He’s a great guy and a good heart. And he deserves a love like yours.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”
We pulled out of the parking garage onto the street towards Steel Man Trucking.
“So what are we looking for?”
“A phone number,” I answered. “I want a private meeting with Robert Woolstein.”
“I’m telling! I’m telling Carter. And then I’m telling Dete. And then I am going to your mama’s house and I am telling your daddy.”
“Whoa…what happened to my good friend who won’t let me tread dangerous waters or jump into the snake pit by myself?”
“Going after Woolstein by yourself isn’t jumping into a snake pit, girl. You at least have a chance there, like maybe you squish all the snakes when you fall on them, or maybe they just ate and aren’t all that hungry right now.
“No. This is one of them kamikaze suicide missions. No chance to come back alive. It’s hurling yourself into an erupting volcano. And I’m still going in there with you and I am still going to help you find information on Woolstein’s whereabouts. But I won’t let you meet this monster by yourself. You could end up dead, just like my sweet Trent.”
We drove in silence the rest of the way to Steel Man Trucking. Nola got out and unlocked the gate. She pulled in and parked out of sight behind a truck. Nola relocked and gate and we went into the office.
“You know I’m right, Cat. You just got yourself engaged to a wonderful man who’s smart and kind and loves you to bits. He’s not only handsome and rich and a lawyer, but one damn fine cook. Do you know what a rare combination that is? Don’t you want to enjoy him a little bit before you hurl yourself into the volcano? Promise me you won’t set up a private meeting with Woolstein. Promise me we’re just going to find information on him.”
“Okay,” I gave in. “I promise.”
“If I even sniff a meeting, I’m telling. You got it?”
“Got it.” I nodded.
“You know I’m psychic, don’t you? I know lies when I hear lies.”
“Yes, Nola.”
“Okay. Now what exactly are we looking for? Where do we start?”
“Trent and Woolstein had to have corresponded,” I said. “There has to be a phone number around here somewhere.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s in his rolodex under B for big, bad guy. Or in the phone logs. Trent would’ve made that kind of call from his cell phone. He probably had that on him the night he…”
“Oh, Nola, I’m sorry,” I hugged her. “I know this is rough on you. But we have to find this guy, so we can get him put away.”
Nola nodded, sniffing back the tears.
“I owe to Trent to help put his murderer behind bars. But I won’t sacrifice you to do it, Cat.”
I nodded.
“Here are the phone logs.”
“When did you first notice trucks were being used at night and the mileage logs were wrong?”
“When I did the December end of the month reports. I called it to Trent attention. He said he’d look into it.”
“Okay, so let’s check the phone records for November and December. Check any number not identified as a familiar person or known business contact.”
“We can take these with us. What else do we need?”
“I’d like to take a look in Trent’s desk.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It feels like I am betraying his trust.”
“He’s dead, honey, and we’re trying to find his killer.”
“Well, okay, I guess. I’ll unlock it and sit next to you while you…examine the contents.”
She and I sat on the big desk chair. She carefully unlocked the middle drawer. Slowly she pulled it toward her. She reached down at picked up a small Eiffel Tower model keychain.
“We got matching Eiffel Tower keychains went we went to Vegas last year. We stayed at the Paris. Oh, what a good time we had…” Nola sniffed. “See? See what kind of guy he was? He was sentimental. And sweet.”
“Geez, Nola, lock up the desk. I can’t bear to watch this torture. I want to look for clues in the desk, but not watch you bleed and moan all over the desk.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You have nothing to be sorry for, the problem isn’t you. How about you go wait in the car with the phone records? I’ll look through the desk, with reverence and respect. Then I’ll lock it up and meet you in the car in five minutes.”
“Okay,” nodded Nola.
Nola picked up the pile of phone records and left the office.
I didn’t want to see what the world saw when someone peeked into Mr. Trent Steel’s desk. I wanted to see what he looked at when he was alone. I carefully lifted the drawer liner. A torn scrap of lined yellow paper. With a phone number scrawled on it. Bingo!
I went out to the car.
“Did you find anything?” Nola asked.
“No,” I lied to my psychic secretary.
“I didn’t think you would. You met Trent, but you didn’t get to really know my Trent. He was a very good and honest man. I’m thinking Woolstein contacted Trent whenever he wanted something from him. Trent wouldn’t have called him. I’m sure of it.”
“Do you think Woolstein could’ve been blackmailing Trent?”
“No. My Trent never did anything bad. He was a good man.”
I am always amazed at how a man can get elevated to near-sainthood by simply dying. It seems their widows, girlfriends, etc. forget every bad thing they ever did. These dead guys shine with the brilliant white light of male perfection, unattainable in their lifetimes.
“I need a doughnut. Maybe two. What do you say? Are you up for Dunkin’ Donuts drive through?”
“Well, it’s too early for a drink,” said Nola, “so I guess so.”
Nola and I proceeded to the donut shop.
Later, alone in my office, I dialed the number on the yellow scrap of paper. It rang. Someone answered. There was a gruff grunt on the other end.
“Mr. Woolstein, this is Mary Catherine Collier. I would like to meet with you to discuss a personal matter.”
The phone clicked off. I called back.
“Mr. Woolstein? Hello, it’s me again.”
“What do you want?” he growled.
“I want to meet with you privately to call a truce.”
The phone clicked off. I called back.
“I’m sorry…what’s the matter with me? Where are my manners? I forgot the magic word. Please?”
“Tonight. Midnight. In the parking lot of Russell’s Bottled Gas down at the end of Eleventh Street. Come alone. I’ll be armed.”
“I only want to talk. You can leave your heavy artillery and car bombs at home tonight. See you at midnight.”
I called Jean Houston.
“Jeanie, will you cover for me tonight?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m meeting with an informant at midnight and Carter won’t understand.”
“Will you be safe?”
“Relatively.”
“Give me your location.”
“Russell’s Bottled Gas, the Eleventh Street dead end in Booker County.”
“Okay. Keep your phone charged and on you. Call me when you’re safe. Your meeting is at midnight? If I don’t hear from you by one a.m., I’ll send a cruiser. Good luck.”
“What exactly do you want from me, Miss Collier?”
“I want to call off this personal war between us, Mr. Woolstein.”
“I wasn’t aware we were at war, Miss Collier, personal or otherwise.”
“Yes, you were. The phone call from the non-existent Wendy James. My abduction and extensive stay in the abandoned train car. The poison cupcake. Shall I go on? What do you want from me?”
“So, you’re ready to deal?”
“Yes.”
“I assume you’re wearing a wire,” he said.
“No. I have no desire to entrap you. Would you like to check?”
I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt.
Woolstein was silent. All I could hear was his heavy breathing.
Then I unbuttoned the second button, and then the third. I was prepared to go full frontal.
“No, stop” he grinned, holding up his chubby hand. “Tempting offer, but, no, thank you, Miss Collier. Call off Bittmor and his squeaky-clean kid.”
“Done. What else?”
“You can control Detrick Bittmor?”
“Yep.”
“And his kid?”
“The squeak happens to be my fiancée.”
“No kidding? You two don’t seem to go together.”
“What else?”
“Quit meddling in things that are none of your damn business.”
“Now Mr. Woolstein, I’m a private investigator. Meddling in other people’s business is what I do for a living.”
“Let me rephrase my response then. Stay out of police business. Stop drawing innocent police officers into your schemes and investigations or one or more of those fine, young officers could end up very dead.”
“My relationship with Kiernan Scott is long over. I no longer confide in him.”
“And Acton?”
“I’ve never confided in Tom Acton, but I won’t call him for help, either.”
“Or any other officer?”
“Cut the crap, Big Bob. I’m hardly a damsel in distress, shrieking for help at every street corner. I can handle myself. You don’t want me to steer clear of the police officers. You want to stay away from Detective Myers.”
“For your own good. Stay out of his way. Myers is a loose cannon, but he’s going to be the next Chief of Police of Heaton Valley very soon.”
“There are so many more qualified people in the department to be chief. Why Myers? He’s nothing but a sneaky, crooked, little rodent,” I spewed in disgust.
“Yes, he is,” Woolstein laughed, “but he’s my sneaky, crooked, little rodent. I’m serious, Mary Catherine, for your own safety, stay out of his orbit. And keep your secretary out of his crosshairs.”
“What do you want us to do, Bob? Move away?”
“Yeah, that would be great. I hear Colorado is nice.”
“I’ll consider it. Now, my turn. Leave Carter and my family alone. And Nola and Detrick.”
“Detrick Bittmor is an institution. Even old and decrepit, he wields tremendous power in the state. I don’t like him, but I respect him. And I have no desire to hurt to your lovely family. But Carter, that cocky, arrogant little snot, he came after me. He tried to play me. He thinks he’s so damn smart.”
“He knows that was a mistake. He won’t do anything that stupid again. I promise you. And Nola?”
“If you can keep her under the radar and if she keeps her mouth shut, she has nothing to fear from me.”
“So, truce Mr. Woolstein?”
“Truce, Miss Collier. But… I may call upon you in the future for a small favor.”
“You have to know that I will not harm anyone.”
“I know that. But I may need some very personal investigative assistance.”
“You mean you may want me to find out something for you?”
“Yes, or maybe plant something, should the need arise.”
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